


the flames

by Miss_Marigold



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, The Violence Isn't That Graphic, all about that Hvitserk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Marigold/pseuds/Miss_Marigold
Summary: But Hvitserk was a Viking, and he would never kneel at the block or jump from a noose. He would greet Odin as he had lived, burning for glory.





	the flames

**Author's Note:**

> Wikipedia says that Hvitserk died in Kievan Rus against a large foe, and chose his own manner of death; being burnt alive.

Hvitserk had always been burning. Burning with hate, with passion, with hunger. The flames were only further stoked with every victory of the Great Heathen Army, banking the embers of his quest for fame.

 

Ubbe was the earth, solid and dependable, sturdy, reasonable. He had raised his brothers into men and led armies that shook the ground with their impressive size.

 

Ivar had been the wind, unpredictable, pushing farther than any of them had ever dreamed. The moments when Ivar was not wreaking havoc were only the calm before the eye of the storm, before he tore apart the very fabric of English society in his search for Viking glory.

 

And Sigurd, poor Sigurd. Water, is what Sigurd had been. Calmer in his pursuits, with the capability of sudden tempestuousness at the urging of the wind. A great hurricane that could form if properly spurned. 

 

But the fire, that was Hvitserk. While he could be amiable, had many comrades, he was perhaps the most outright dangerous of the bunch. A love of raiding and hurting that seemed to come all too naturally, a quickness to violence that was not as tempered as Ubbe or Ivar. 

 

And so when he and his new Kievan army were defeated in battle, when he was captured by the enemy, he knew the most appropriate way to die was in the flames. The request was granted easily enough, though sparked confusion as to why such a horrid method was self-chosen. 

 

But Hvitserk was a Viking, and he would never kneel at the block or jump from a noose. He would greet Odin as he had lived, burning for glory. The end of Hvitserk was not to be some mild thing, no, he would be the maker of his own death, and he would die in a way that was impossible to ignore. The blaze that was his body would only highlight the awesomeness of his life and legacy, would be the spectacle that his life had been. 

 

A son of a King, a leader of the Great Heathen Army, a distinguished warlord in his own right, Hvitserk was prepared to die. 

 

As he was tied to the stake, the words of his father floated through his ears. It was finally time to join him in Valhalla, to share his tales of triumph and vengeance. Hvitserk’s own children would join him one day, along with his sweet Gunhilde, he was sure. He smiled, confident that the Valkyries would come for him.

 

The torches had been lit, tossed to the pyre, and licks of fire entwined with Hvitserk’s body. As his body was consumed, Hvitserk’s laughs eventually became indistinguishable from screams. 

 

And as the fire quelled, only a burnt out corpse remained, bones badly scorched. 

 

The flame had been extinguished.

**Author's Note:**

> OK so Hvitserk is kind of my favorite and he needs more stuff. This is just a little drabble, but I have a larger fic planned if I get off my butt and write it one day.


End file.
